Broken

When my son was four,
We visited Mackinac Island
For a couple magical days.
We biked around and flew kites
And ate fudge and French fries
And generally basked in the beauty.

We all got an ice cream to eat
While we waited for the ferry,
And just before boarding,
My son’s ice cream
Plopped on the ground
And there was no time to get another one.

Some things aren’t fixable
And the memory stings.

Now my son is six
And he got a pressed penny
At the Cable Car Museum.
He dropped it, though, into a spot
Where he could not fetch it,
So that as he fell asleep,
He sobbed, “I know where it is,
But it is gone. Too far.”

Some things aren’t fixable.